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Who owns rosogolla, does it matter?

During the weekend at my cousin’s place, the dinner included rosogollas. As most Indians know, rosogolla holds an esteemed place in any Bengali feast or dessert spread. In my school days, when I attended any wedding in Kolkata, I remember kids routinely boasted about how many of these spongy delights they could eat at one go.

Amid tug of war with Bengal over its origin, Odisha recently celebrated Rasgulla Day. My opinion is whether it’s Bengal or Odisha does it matter who owns rosogolla. People across the globe are just thrilled with these yummiest, softest, melt-in-mouth delights. Actually these cheese dumplings dipped in lightly flavoured sugar syrup are a delight in itself.

In fact this time my cousin-sister has served the rosogollas with fresh red cherries by its side. Well they looked so good that once again I have fallen in love with rosogollas.

In her book Eating India Chitrita Banerji writes about rosogolla: ‘It is supposed to have been invented (perhaps through a happy accident) by a nineteenth-century confectioner named Nobin Chandra Das, whose son, KC Das, opened the eponymous Calcutta shop in the 1930s.’

Chitrita writes further, ‘Like most Bengalis, I had always assumed that these and other channa-based sweets had evolved out of the regional imagination, until I came across the theory that the Bengalis had learned to make them from the Portuguese who settled around the Bay of Bengal in the 17th century.’

Though the basic recipe remains the same, yet each establishment today has its own distinct style of preparing the rosogolla. What may, I can say that for any Bengali, there is no sincerer love than the love for rosogollas.

I have forever been in love with rosogolla. The best so far has been the warm, nolen-gur rosogolla from a nondescript shop in a bylane of South Kolkata’s Purna Das Road. Fresh off the kadai, they are too spongy to be cut by a flimsy wooden spoon, so I choose the easiest way out. I pick up an entire piece and put it in my mouth. It causes an explosion in my mouth. But it is not that of overwhelming sweetness or artificial sponginess; it is strong, slightly chewy, and not too sweet. In a matter of seconds, it dissolves in my mouth, leaving behind a lingering flavour. As I reach for the other, and another, I realize food, in the end, whether its rosogolla or so to say any other, is a tradition, something holy. It’s not about who owns. It’s about sharing.

Long live rosogolla!

DISCLAIMER : Views expressed above are the author's own.

Author

Barsha Nag Bhowmick is an assistant editor with the www.timesofIndia.com. She has an opinion on anything and everything. A scribe for two decades, she writes on various topics including art, literature, relationships, lifestyle and anything that arouses her interest from time to time. When not into writing, she paints. Follow @barshanag on Twitter.

Barsha Nag Bhowmick is an assistant editor with the www.timesofIndia.com. She has an opinion on anything and everything. A scribe for two decades, she write. . .

Author

Barsha Nag Bhowmick is an assistant editor with the www.timesofIndia.com. She has an opinion on anything and everything. A scribe for two decades, she writes on various topics including art, literature, relationships, lifestyle and anything that arouses her interest from time to time. When not into writing, she paints. Follow @barshanag on Twitter.

Barsha Nag Bhowmick is an assistant editor with the www.timesofIndia.com. She has an opinion on anything and everything. A scribe for two decades, she write. . .